


we might be dead by tomorrow

by fallingseasons



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Hurt, M/M, Slice of Life, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 10:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingseasons/pseuds/fallingseasons
Summary: Wonwoo saves lives through the local crisis hotline. One of them is the same person that once saved him.





	we might be dead by tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: contains sensitive topics such as slight homophobia, physical abuse and alcoholism.
> 
> listen to playlist here:  
> [ we might be dead by tomorrow ](https://open.spotify.com/user/smdbestrada/playlist/6pjEId5k09dwZJXrJ4LN3Q?si=wgTDqbMqR_-cz_Bp7Ruz4Q)
> 
> happy new year, everyone! I hope you will enjoy this piece ;;
> 
> p.s. this is another converted fic I'm sorry I can't create new content at the moment ;; I'm trying to relive some of my previous works to inspire me again. thank you always for your support

 

Wonwoo saved another life today. _He hoped so_.  
  
As soon as the call ends and he puts the phone down, he is left to think he did the best that he could in keeping the woman at the other end of the line alive. He could still hear the shaky breaths she released through the static, words trembling out and whispering into his ear, “I don’t see a way out of this anymore. I think this might be the end.”  
  
Wonwoo remembers her endless sobs through the line when he says that he cares about her, “You don’t have to go through this alone because I’ll be right here with you.” He comforts her with his voice through the hotline, soothing and calm, his heart beating quick and his chest tightening—constricted.  
  
In moments such as these, it always felt like the person’s life was in his hands, and he was doing everything he could to hold on to it and to keep its fragile pieces together, safe from the woes of the world.  
  
She cries more and more while Wonwoo listens intently to her. He can only offer the silence that cuts through the line and hangs between them, hoping that he did something to spark something inside of her and would change her mind about the pills she told him about, stocked up in her bathroom cabinet waiting for her.  
  
The phone call would have been categorized as high risk, but Wonwoo was determined to deal with this alone. He’ll take care of her. He’ll keep her safe.  
  
It goes on for twenty minutes, and the caller thanks Wonwoo in the end, her voice breaking through the line much brighter than the first few minutes he had with her. She tells him that he has no idea how much he’s helped her. She hangs up, and Wonwoo feels the air in his lungs rush out of him in a breath of relief.  
  
_Maybe he does_ , Wonwoo silently thinks.  
  
He cradles his head in his hands on the table, trying to recollect himself and his thoughts before another person calls, heart already heavy in his chest. He is only comforted with a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up from his hands he sees Jeonghan, the local operative who is also his friend, smiling empathetically at him.  
  
“You did well, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan encourages him. “You’re doing a good thing.”  
  
Wonwoo knew that, but it was always great to be reminded. He wipes his tears with the back of his hands, sniffing before he returns a hopeful smile. “Since when did you get here?”  
  
“Sometime after dinner,” Jeonghan answers, sitting casually on the desk behind his own and turning to the computer monitor as he switches it on and it comes to life. “I’ve been assigned for six weeks around the same time as your shifts. I’ll be tracking down the callers and signalling the local station in case you need help. Let’s just pray that you won’t need me so much here.”  
  
_I hope so too_ , Wonwoo thinks again, nose wrinkling as he sniffs.  
  
Volunteering for the local crisis center for over five months had given Wonwoo a lot of experience. The sound of the hotline ringing is one that always comes with mixed emotions made up of adrenaline, fear, uncertainty and hope. He couldn’t deny that it had always left him balancing on a tightrope, with one wrong step possibly ruining someone’s life. If worse comes to worst, it can even lead to ending one.  
  
But ever since that first phone call and the life that he’d first saved, he’d undergone training and come back every single week, inspired to create an impact on people’s lives and try to make their days just a little better.  
  
Wonwoo wouldn’t say he knows exactly how it feels to be in their shoes, but there was a time in his life when he believed to be in the same path. He’d lost everything—a family, a house, and a purpose. More importantly, he lost the only person who’d ever believed in him, the only person who’d once brought the light to him.  
  
Wonwoo still wonders about where that person is right now and what he’s doing. If he was living well and if he was loving someone. He would think that seven long years of waiting for him to magically show up was enough for his feelings to change and for him to move on. But surprisingly, that wasn’t exactly the case.  
  
“Wonwoo, you've got an incoming call,” Someone signals from one of the cubicles.  
  
He responds with a hand raised and a thumbs up, then prepares to take the call from the telephone.  
  
Wonwoo takes a deep breath and steadies his hand above the telephone, waiting for the line to reach him. And when the phone does ring he quickly takes it, lifting it to place it gently next to his ear before his voice cuts through the line.  
  
“Good evening, how may I help you tonight?” Wonwoo greets, a friendly smile plastered on his face to match the cheery tone he tries to send over the phone.  
  
The response is a loud buzz, a lingering silence that comes off as a minute’s worth of hesitation.  
  
“Hello?” Wonwoo speaks again, over the buzz at the other end of the line.  
  
The voice that comes next is low and uncertain. Almost familiar.  
  
“Did I call the right number?” The caller asks.  
  
“Well that depends on what you’re looking for,” Wonwoo answers truthfully. “May I ask your intention for calling?”  
  
“I don’t really know, I… I just felt like I needed someone to talk to.”  
  
He pauses. There’s a strange feeling in his chest he couldn’t comprehend, something he felt as soon as he heard the caller’s voice through the line. For now he avoids it, and focuses on the job at hand.  
  
“And I happen to be a very good listener,” Wonwoo says with a smile, one which the caller wouldn’t be able to see. “What would you like to talk about?”  
  
Another short amount of silence appears before the caller answers.  
  
“I’ve been thinking a lot today. About death,” He tells him, then follows right after by saying, “Not in the way you might think though. I’ve been thinking about it, particularly, my father’s death. I heard he died peacefully in his sleep today. I don’t know what caused it, but I was reassured he didn’t feel any pain.”  
  
Wonwoo listens quietly to the sound of his distant voice.  
  
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” is all Wonwoo manages to say. It’s formal and courteous.  
  
A soft laughter interrupts, empty and sarcastic, quickly cutting through the line.  
  
“This is where I think I the problem is. I know people would sympathize with me if I tell them about what happened, how I’ve just lost someone important. He’s the only family I have left and yet, I can’t seem to share the same grief.”  
  
Wonwoo’s grip on the phone tightens. He continues to pay attention to the caller’s words and tries to find any other emotion that could possibly trigger him.  
  
“He was my father, but he was also a human being with his free will and his own choices. I hated him for both. Thinking about how he died alone in a prison cell, I look back at my past, at the scars on my back and the bruises that used to be on my skin, I can’t help but also think about how he didn’t deserve to die the way he did. For a moment, I thought about how he deserved a slow and painful one, like the same slow burn of torture I’d experienced living under his roof after my mom had left us. I loved him as a father, but I loathed him and was disgusted by him as a human.”  
  
Wonwoo hears the change in the caller’s voice, shaken and choking held back tears. He doesn’t say anything else after a while, but he cries. He cries silently while Wonwoo listens to him. He turns back to Jeonghan’s questioning look, but he shakes his head as an indication that he didn’t need to do anything.  
  
The caller soon apologizes.  
  
“I’m sorry for that,” he says with a soft and trembling voice, “I must sound like an ungrateful son, but he wasn’t exactly the perfect parent either.”  
  
“It doesn’t make you ungrateful at all,” Wonwoo responds slowly, “These feelings are okay to have. I understand where you’re coming from.”  
  
He wasn’t lying. Wonwoo still thinks he sounds oddly familiar, almost too real. There’s something about his voice that pulls him in, that makes him want to listen.  
  
“Even if you do, it doesn’t really matter now. He’s gone, and I can only wish the world didn’t ruin him so much. I always thought he could have been my father again, you know? Without all the anger and hate inside him.”  
  
Wonwoo is intrigued. He wants to know more about him—the caller and his story. Maybe it’s because he’s heard it before. It just sounds almost close, _too close_ to home.  
  
“I probably spoke too much.” The caller cuts in, “In fact, I might have also had a little too much to drink tonight. A bottle of beer or two, maybe more. I should go. I just needed to get things off my chest tonight.”  
  
“Are you outside right now?” Wonwoo asks a little anxious, “Can you make it back to your place alright?”  
  
“It’s not that far from here, but thank you for your concern.”  
  
Wonwoo wonders if he should say something more before the caller hangs up; the words are already at the tip of his tongue, waiting to share a little more kindness and a little more light.  
  
“Hey,” his voice cuts through the air again, “I may not know what you’ve been through exactly, but I want you to know that you deserve to be loved. You deserved more than what you got.”  
  
There’s a short pause before the caller responds.  
  
“What... What did you just say?” The caller asks, his voice raising into a broken whisper.  
  
“You deserve more,” he says again, “I just wanted you to know that.”  
  
The silence is longer, cutting through the line with an indescribable tension. It makes Wonwoo worry a bit, not knowing if what he said had made a positive or negative impact on him.  
  
“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks, worried.  
  
“I’m fine,” The caller answers, “I just remembered something.”  
  
Just when Wonwoo thinks he’s going to hang up, the caller asks an unexpected question.  
  
“Is it okay if I call again?”  
  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
A week has passed since he called.  
  
Strange as it seems, Wonwoo had been silently counting the days. His thoughts keep leading him to that particular voice at the other end of the line, and he wants to know why. He remembers his supervisor would always have to remind him that this is just a job and he shouldn’t get attached to the people they speak to over the phone, let alone over just one phone call, except Wonwoo likes to think that maybe this could be anything but.  
  
He wonders and wonders and wonders, if he’s only making things up in his head. If the voice he heard last week reminded him so much of the past that he was imagining it, trying to bring the past into his present, trying to fit the pieces together.  
  
Wonwoo wasn’t attached, maybe because they were already connected from the start.  
  
The phone rings.  
  
He takes it willingly, and suddenly the voice he wished for in his head speaks next to his ear.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
The voice is much clearer now, much more present and alive. Wonwoo already recognizes him so well.  
  
“Hi there,” Wonwoo greets in a friendly manner, “How may I help you tonight?”  
  
“Is that a standard greeting everyone says?” The caller asks, “I could have sworn I heard the same thing last week too.”  
  
“You called last week?” Wonwoo asks, surprise in his tone.  
  
“I did, but someone else had taken the call. When the line came through, I just talked for a bit and hung up. I didn’t want to be mean but… I honestly thought it’d be you.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Wonwoo could have been talking to another caller when he missed him, but the thought of him wanting to talk to him specifically makes him all the more curious. He wants to ask why, but he realizes it wasn’t his concern. Maybe he just felt more comfortable talking to someone he’d already spoken to.  
  
“Is there anything you want to talk about tonight?” Wonwoo asks.  
  
“There is actually,” The caller answers, “I don’t know why I feel like I should tell you this… but I broke up with my boyfriend today.”  
  
Wonwoo doesn’t know what to do or say, but he tries to keep the conversation going.  
  
“That’s surprising to hear. What went wrong?” He asks carefully, waiting for an answer he’s not sure he’d like to hear.  
  
“Do you really want to know?” The caller asks in return.  
  
Wonwoo listens with an elbow propped on the table. “Of course.”  
  
The caller takes a moment to think, before he tells him.  
  
“I just felt that it was necessary,” he says, “To let go of some things, people, simply because they weigh you down.”  
  
“And did he weigh you down a lot? Your boyfriend?”  
  
“My ex-boyfriend,” he corrects, “He was a good person overall, although he wasn’t all that good to me.”  
  
“Did he hurt you?” Wonwoo asks too many questions when he should just be listening, but the caller doesn’t seem to mind.  
  
“Not really, no,” he answers, “I didn’t let him hurt me, at least. He said things I wasn’t sure I liked, but the gravity of words is different when it comes from someone you could care less about and words from a person important to you. It hurts more when it’s the latter.”  
  
“So, that means your ex-boyfriend was…”  
  
“Neither of them. He wasn't sincere—to me and towards his feelings. I think he would have turned out a better friend instead.”  
  
“But you loved him.”  
  
Wonwoo says this in a way that sounds more like a question.  
  
The caller doesn’t speak for a moment.  
  
“Maybe I never did,” he confesses, “That’s the truth. I realized this as soon as I ended our relationship, that my feelings were just as unreal as his. And now that I don’t have to pretend anymore, I feel somewhat free.”  
  
Wonwoo starts to admire the way he sounds so good in saying things. It’s easy and simple, and he’s strong. He sounds as real as the voice that creeps up once in a while in his dreams, one that he can never forget. His heart swells at the thought of him, bringing a pain to his chest.  
  
“I’m glad to hear that things are starting to work out for you.” Wonwoo tells him, and he believes it. He wants to believe good things will happen to him because he deserves it. For a moment, there’s a blur in knowing exactly who he’s saying it to—to the person at the other end of the line or to the person in his past.  
  
“Not quite yet, but I hope it does.” The caller responds.  
  
“Either way, you can talk to me anytime, okay?” Wonwoo says. He’s not supposed to give him false hopes, but instead he makes a promise. “I’m here if you want me to be.”  
  
“And here you are.”  
  
Through the other end of the line, Wonwoo hears him smile.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
“Do you like to read?”  
  
Wonwoo wonders if he should start asking for his name. It’s already been a month since he first encountered the caller, and although sharing this information in his field of volunteer work isn’t exactly required (only in special cases), he realizes he should still ask for it at some point, especially if there was a possibility to keep in touch.  
  
But there’s something about the power of being able to create a bridge with someone he’s actually never met that makes him enjoy the anonymity of things. He didn’t actually give him a name either.  
  
“Yes, I do,” Wonwoo answers his question just as another thought comes to mind, “I knew someone who liked it more than I did.”  
  
He looks distractedly behind him to see Jeonghan holding a piece of paper on both his hands, a messy _ASK FOR HIS NAME_ scribbled down as he slowly mouths the words. It’s not a surprise that he knows he’d been talking regularly on the phone with someone. He waves him off and turns back to his desk.  
  
The caller’s voice rises a bit, as if he was curious. “Was he a friend?”  
  
Wonwoo isn’t exactly sure. He revisits his thoughts and the memories of what had happened before, but there are still some things he wasn’t certain about.  
  
The only thing he can answer is, “He was definitely someone special.”  
  
“Where is he now?”  
  
He loses his breath for a second. The thought makes him uncomfortable, and he doesn’t know how he should answer when the tables have turned on him.  
  
“I don’t know,” Wonwoo says, “But I hope he’s somewhere safe. Someplace better.”  
  
“When was the last time you’ve spoken to him?”  
  
“Seven years ago.”  
  
A quick silence cuts through the air.  
  
When the caller’s voice speaks again, it seems softer—more solemn.  
  
“It’s been way too long, hasn’t it?” he asks, sounding like he had been counting along with him all this time.  
  
Wonwoo mirrors the gentleness in his voice through the line. “I don’t mind waiting a bit more.”  
  
“How much longer do you think you can wait?”  
  
Wonwoo pauses, a deep breath slowly escaping his lips, “As long as possible…until he’s ready. Until we both are.”  
  
The idea of waiting wasn’t new to Wonwoo. Ever since he’d been taken away from that small town, there are parts of his life that still remained there—in the old house he could have called home. Until now, there were still questions he needed answers to. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get them, but a quiet hope burns in his chest. As cliche’ as it sounds, he believes that once the waiting ends, it will all be worth it.  
  
The caller stays silent—nameless. A quietness grows much louder than the previous minutes that had occurred.  
  
The rest of the workers inside the crisis center continue their tasks—answering phone calls and listening to other people’s stories. Each person has a tale to tell, and something about this moment in the night makes Wonwoo vulnerable, vulnerable enough to share his own story to any stranger who is willing to listen.  
  
But the caller suddenly starts talking again, and they return to their corresponding roles: the caller being the storyteller, and Wonwoo the listener.  
  
“You know a few days ago I was looking through my old stuff and I found a journal,” he tells him, “I used to think writing was the best outlet for my feelings. There was a story I wrote years ago, but had left one page unwritten. I finished it today. That story still means everything to me now and I’d like to read them to you. Maybe it could help you find what you’re looking for. I mean, if that’s alright with you.”  
  
“Sure,” Wonwoo answers. He hears the sound of shuffling at the other end of the line, something that sounds like the turning of pages from a book.  
  
The atmosphere is quiet and the buzz in the air is present once more, anticipation creeping into his skin and keeping Wonwoo alert.  
  
From the moment he hears the first few sentences, his heart triples the beating it makes. By the time the caller pauses to take a breath, Wonwoo takes his own, covering his mouth to prevent a surprised gasp from coming out. Disbelief crosses his face as he shakes in his seat, and Jeonghan approaches to ask if he was okay.  
  
Wonwoo sweats instantly while the words begin to penetrate his ear, thoughts taking him away from the present only to bring him back to memories of the past.  
  
  
  
_Mingyu was fifteen when he met a boy on the rooftop. He’d gone up a flight of stairs and passed through the school premises only to see a door at the very end. It seemed like it was that part of the building was off limits and students chose not to come up, but he did otherwise._  
  
_He’d predicted this—Once he pushed the door open and stepped outside, he is met with a sky full of blue and scattered clouds above him. He didn’t notice the boy right away, but as soon as he saw him, the boy looked out to be on the verge of a what could be a possible tragedy._  
  
_All Mingyu asked was to be alone with some fresh air. He didn’t expect to see a stranger with both feet on top of the ledge, literally standing more than twenty feet above the ground._  
  
_The town was small, dotted with tiny houses along the streets and surrounded by lots of trees. The population wasn’t too many either. People knew most people from where he lived._  
  
_Except maybe this boy at the rooftop standing on the ledge. It didn’t look like he studied there. The school uniform was out of the question, judging from the tattered clothes he was wearing._  
  
_The boy’s feet shook, his shoulders trembled and only his back faced him. There was no way in knowing what he was planning to do, and it made him a little uncomfortable._  
  
_It was only then that Mingyu tried to approach him. Slowly but cautiously he went, taking light and careful steps forward. The closer he got to him, the closer he could hear the soft tremor in his voice._  
  
_As soon as he was in a safe distance from the boy on the ledge, he thought it might be the right time to ask him to come down._  
  
_He raised a tentative hand, meters away from the boy. Mingyu was about to speak, but the boy turned back to look down at him, the look on his face quickly changing to shock._  
  
_Within the slowed down seconds of their encounter, a lot of things happened: the boy’s feet shifted and caused a miscalculated step, his body losing balance while a gasp quickly escaped his lips. The surge of adrenaline rushed through Mingyu’s system, making him reach out and grip the boy’s shirt to pull him forward._  
  
_He fell first, his back hitting hard on the cemented ground with a loud grunt. Next was the boy, falling harder and landing unceremoniously on top of him, his weight heavily pressing him down._  
  
_He knew there was going to be a huge bruise on his back soon. The pain stung and it bit his skin. The boy quickly pulled away and sat on the ground cross-legged. He mirrored his movements, settling in front of him to rest as he tried to regain his strength._  
  
_He could finally see his face—bloodshot eyes, hollowed cheeks and laboured breaths leaving his mouth. His hair was a dark mess on top of his head and he gave the impression of someone that hadn’t showered._  
  
_But the look on this boy’s face was something beyond shock, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. Like his life could have ended with that one step he made if he hadn’t saved him. Mingyu wondered what he thought in those milliseconds on the ledge, as soon as he realized he was about to fall. Did he think, ’Well, shit. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all’? Or did he think otherwise? That maybe he made the biggest mistake in trying to save him?_  
  
_Mingyu didn’t get an answer, but the boy suddenly laughed. He laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world to have almost fallen off from the top of a school building. He laughed so loud and so pathetically, shoulders shaking as he fell into a fit of laughter._  
  
_But he also broke into tears, crying the moment his laughs turned unnatural and the reality of still being alive finally sank down on him. And as they sat together in silence on the rooftop, Mingyu rested a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, thinking that maybe today it was more than enough to do nothing else except breathe._  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Wonwoo becomes restless over the last few days, sleep evading him completely as his nights were occupied with thoughts about the journal. He remembers everything so vividly—The ledge and the rooftop, looking down from more than twelve stories high. His body against the air and his life dependent on the hand that pulled him out from danger, dragging him into the safe zone.  
  
From when he had listened to the story on the phone to when the caller had ended the call, there was nothing Wonwoo could say.  
  
But he knew the story well enough to know that he wrote about their story on his journal. Wonwoo was the boy on the rooftop. And Mingyu? He was none other than the boy that saved his life.  
  
The caller had been Mingyu all along—The person he’d been waiting for, the person that had once been his home and his world.  
  
He had begged Jeonghan to trace the call as soon as he knew it was him, only to find out that it was difficult to monitor. As far as Jeonghan knew, he thinks he could have used a phone booth to call the crisis center to avoid being traced.  
  
The thought that Mingyu was willing to share this journal to someone else using details of their lives leaves Wonwoo with more questions. What were his intentions for doing this? Was he hoping Wonwoo would be listening or perhaps, _had he known he was listening all this time? What was the point in retelling this story to him?_  
  
As the past slowly rises back to the surface, Wonwoo thinks maybe this was the only way of finding the answers he’d most longed for.  
  
It’s quiet for the first few seconds of Mingyu’s phone call, tension slowly creeping through the static. Familiarizing yourself with someone who’d disappeared for seven years was harder than he thought.  
  
Wonwoo has a million things he wants to say, although he’s not sure if he should—maybe not yet. He wants to see him. He wants to see the person who left and the person that had come back, wondering if he feels the same way.  
  
For now, they are stuck inside the lines of the telephone, connecting and reconnecting through a story inside a journal that Wonwoo is about to relive.  
  
“Did he ever see him again?” he asks innocently.  
  
“See who?” Mingyu asks in return, a sense of surprised confusion in his voice.  
  
“The boy on the rooftop.”  
  
“He did,” He answers, before reading another page, “He found him not too far away.”  
  
  
  
_Mingyu lived in a house past fields and run-down houses, at the end of a long dirt road. Every day after class, the bus would drop him off in front of the mailbox and he’d enter the door, sneaking past his snoring father on the couch clutching a whiskey bottle. He’d hurry up the stairs and enter his room to lie on his bed, sometimes even without anything to eat. All he could do was hope to fall asleep before people could see him fall apart._  
  
_Until one night._  
  
_He looked out from his window to see the lights left on at the shed at their backyard. He left his room and tiptoed down the stairs, all the way to the back of his house. He was scared and unarmed, but he feigned courage and walked towards the shed to see what was going on. As soon as he had made it in front of the door, he gripped the knob, turning it slowly. His heart sped up in a ridiculous pace as he took a deep breath._  
  
_He pushed forward, kicking the door open._  
  
_Of all the things Mingyu had imagined, the least he expected was to see a boy—the boy he’d seen on the rooftop—sitting on the floor with his knees tucked in front of him and surrounded with dusty old tools._  
  
_“What are you—“_  
  
_“I followed the school bus,” The boy answered right away, “I followed the bus you got inside and rode my bike.”_  
  
_Panic came in the form of goosebumps across Mingyu’s skin._  
  
_“Why would—“_  
  
_The boy continued talking. “Please. I promise I won’t disturb anyone. I’ll be quiet. And I’ll turn the lights off.”_  
  
_Mingyu didn’t know what to do. It was late and his father was just inside the house. He could wake up anytime._  
  
_“Please,” the boy begged again, eyes wide in fright and hopelessness, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”_  
  
_That answered some of Mingyu’s questions from when he had first seen him at the rooftop—The ripped clothes and the dirt all over his body. If his father found out about this right now, there wasn’t a doubt that they would both get beaten._  
  
_He took quick glances between his house and the boy. His mind began to grow tired from thinking too much. Fuck it, he sighed, a hand quickly running through his hair and resting on his hips._  
  
_Mingyu gave in._  
  
_“Just make sure to turn the lights off, okay? My father doesn’t come out here often anyway. But if ever that he does, don’t make a sound.”_  
  
_With that, he left the boy inside the shed and sneaked back up inside his room to climb into his bed. He looked out from the window, and the lights were off._  
  
_He wondered if he should have at least given him a blanket._  
  
  
  
“He never made decisions for himself back then,” Mingyu tells him over the phone, “It was something spontaneous, that even he didn’t know what he was getting himself into the moment he did. But he wasn’t a bad person, there were too many of that in this world. He just wanted to be someone fully capable of doing something to help.”  
  
Wonwoo hadn’t realized he’d been crying again. He’d remembered it like it was just yesterday, and he had been so thankful for Mingyu.  
  
“I’m glad he did,” Wonwoo tells him, a small smile creeping on his face. He likes to think Mingyu does the same, imagining the grin in his voice.  
  
“So am I,” Mingyu says, “It didn’t stop there. He woke up the next day, much earlier than he would normally do just to check on the boy. His dad was already gone by then, off to somewhere he didn’t know of. When he got to the shed the boy was already awake. His eyebags looked so heavy under his eyes, like he wasn’t able to get any sleep at all. He looked skinnier too. He went back inside the house to make a grilled cheese sandwich and fetch a glass of water before bringing it to him. He had to leave for school soon, so he left him in the shed with the sandwich and the glass of water. He’d made it back a few hours later and his father was still not around, so he’d given him a bag of chips and a tiny blanket before heading to his room and his father stumbling inside the house. He looked out the window once again, watching the lights switch off inside the shed. He did the littlest of things to help, but it’s the little things that cou _nt, isn’t it?”_  
  
  
  
_The boy had been inside the shed for two days since Mingyu met him, but he knew he couldn’t stay there for too long. He remembered his father once told him about someone living close by who had passed away. It’s been two years since then, and no one had taken ownership of his house, No one seemed interested either, since it was located inside a clearing at the forest right next to their own house._  
  
_But the boy needed a comfortable place to stay, so Mingyu decided to take him there on the next day, as soon as his father left. The minute they spotted the clearing and walked inside the house, he saw the boy’s eyes light up._  
  
_It wasn't about the house. It looked like it was almost falling apart, but the boy didn’t seem to care as his eyes were instantly glued to the pool behind the house, at the center of the garden. Leaves fell from the trees and floated on top of the pool, and suddenly he was stripping down to nothing, disappearing into the water._  
  
_It must be really cold, Mingyu imagined, but seeing the boy’s head rise above the water was refreshing. It was like he was seeing him for the first time, with bright eyes and a genuine smile staring back at him like unspoken gratitude that brought a certain kind of warmth to his heart._  
  
_In that same strange moment, Mingyu wondered why it was so much easier to help other people more than himself._  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
“I’m worried about you.”  
  
Jeonghan had been staring for more than a minute at Wonwoo’s red, swollen eyes, as if a large bee had stung him.  
  
“I’m fine,” Wonwoo reassures him, grabbing a tissue to blow his nose, “It’s just been an emotional few weeks. I’ll be fine.”  
  
Jeonghan had listened in on his phone calls with Mingyu trying to seek out where he lived, but they still couldn’t find him. Instead he’d been exposed to Wonwoo’s past, and not once has he ever said anything.  
  
Except today, he does a little bit of it.  
  
“You’ve been crying every week. Isn’t there any other way you can contact him? Why can’t he just talk to you persoanally? He could be anywhere right now.”  
  
“It’s been seven years,” Wonwoo comments, “I don’t think it’s that easy. And I can’t just knock in front of people's doors to find him.”  
  
“But are you really sure you want to hear more of the past, just so it could ruin you again?”  
  
Wonwoo can only smile sadly at him. He knew Jeonghan's intentions were good, but he knows what he's getting himself into.  
  
“Thank you for worrying about me,” Wonwoo tells him, “I just think I need to see this through.”

 

  
Mingyu’s journal continues to connect them through the static of the telephone.  
  
They created a new bond ever since Mingyu had taken him to that abandoned house. He knew Wonwoo’s name by then, took visits everyday after class to bring a pair of clothes and a few old books. Sometimes when Mingyu's father wasn't around, he'd even let him inside their own house so he could take a shower in his room, before sending him back to the abandoned house.  
  
“Wonwoo loved to swim,” He mentions, the way of his own name drawling out from his mouth striking a sense of nostalgia inside him, “He enjoyed being in the water. Mingyu didn’t know how to swim, but he would watch him do laps in the pool and swim deep to touch the floor at the bottom. He asked him why he loved the water so much. He said it calmed him, took his thoughts away from all the problems. ’There are moments when you will feel like the ocean,’”  
  
When Wonwoo had opened up to Mingyu, he told him about the fights he had with his mother. He never knew his father and she always compared him to his younger brother, saying he should be more like him. She took her frustrations out on him, expecting him to take the responsibility of their missing father and become the head of the family.  
  
But Wonwoo had been busy. He’d been busy in a way most people didn’t understand. He’d been busy telling himself that he was okay, busy telling himself to just keep swimming.  
  
  
  
  
_He’d walked out one night, lighting a cigarette outside the house to smoke before riding a bike to go somewhere. Wonwoo didn’t expect to come back to his house surrounded in flames, his mother and brother still inside while a firetruck followed by an ambulance entered the scene and neighbours began to notice the commotion. He was too late, and the guilt had forced him to exit the scene and leave unfound._  
  
_Before he even knew it, he’d traveled all the way to Mingyu’s small town on bike overnight, climbing up the storage ladder and ending up on the school’s rooftop where he found him._  
  
  
  
Wonwoo has tears in his eyes when Mingyu tries to explain, his hand closed over his mouth to keep himself from crying while another hand keeps the phone steady.  
  
“He never asked for whatever happened to him,” he says, “but he punished himself for something that was beyond his control. People were probably looking for him, but he threw his life away and faced the consequences without asking anyone for help. The more Mingyu looked at him, the more it felt like he was looking at a mirror, seeing parts of himself that had always been broken. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t save him like how he’d saved him from the rooftop. You save yourself all on your own, with someone to hold your hand through it all. That’s when he realized there wasn’t anything he could do because you can’t quite fix people.”  
  
“Then, what can you do?” Wonwoo asks.  
  
The line is quiet for a moment, a static buzz present before Mingyu speaks gently next to his ear.  
  
“You love them.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
_It had been three weeks_ _, but Mingyu had already been accustomed to Wonwoo—to the details of his face and the pale skin on his body. Without noticing, they were slowly building a home together in that old house. They cleaned it and had taken paint from Mingyu’s backyard to splash them over the walls and each other, playing around and just having fun. They would read together sometimes. Sometimes, they would sit at the edge of the pool with their legs inside the water,_ _head held high as they daydreamed of a brighter life._  
  
_Wonwoo taught him how to swim the same way he learned how to love a broken boy. He would smile so prettily and so often, and knowing he had contributed to something as beautiful as that made his heart swell._  
  
_It also frightened him. More and more he was falling deeper into the life he created for Wonwoo and losing sight of his own. His world started to revolve around him, that he would feel worried whenever it was time for them to separate more than how his father would hurt him._  
  
  
  
Wonwoo remembers the bruises blooming along Mingyu’s arms and the wound below his eye he’d seen once. He never asked about it, but he knew where they came from. He never thought of hiding it from him. Maybe he wanted to show them, proving that he was there for all of it, like battle scars. Mingyu gave him hints about living with his alcoholic father. He’d smile back at him in a sad way saying, ‘I don’t think parents have a manual on how they should deal with their children, you know? They can only try their best to raise them the way they think they should.’    
  
Until now, it still angers Wonwoo when he thought about the way his father never gave him the love he deserved when he had so much of it to give.  
  
“Wonwoo got sick one day. He got paler than his usual complexion, and he was sweating in the cold. There was no electricity in the old house, so Mingyu led him back to his house. He was so stupid back then, asking him to climb into his bedroom window not knowing how little energy he had. But when he saw him shivering he knew he couldn’t leave him outside. His father left early when the morning came, so he told Wonwoo that he’d skip class and they would stay in the house all day. He made him puke on his trash can and left him with medicine inside his room to do chores and cook food, checking up on him every hour. When his father arrived, he stayed in the living room to keep him there and never go up. As soon as he positioned himself in front of the couch with his whiskey bottle, Mingyu went back to his room.”  
  
  
  
_They lied together on top of Mingyu's bed for the first time, keeping quiet from his father. They faced each other, staring into each other’s eyes, his heart speeding past a red light. Wonwoo told him he was feeling better. His arms were warm and comfortable, pulling Mingyu so close to him._  
  
_“You are the kindest, loveliest, and most beautiful person I’ve ever known,” Wonwoo whispered all so suddenly and quietly, like he didn’t have much time, “I’m so thankful for you.”_  
  
_Mingyu thought maybe this was what home really felt like._  
  
_Wonwoo raised a hand, moving his fingers to his lips. It stayed there for quite a while, until they moved up to his face and brushed his cheek with his thumb. Mingyu was already breathing so hard, but he could see his chest rising and falling in sync with his own._  
  
_Right then—as if he was the most fragile thing he’d ever seen—he lowered his mouth to his, the night turning into their slow and meaningful kisses before they drifted to sleep._  
  
  
  
He knows how the story would go, but there were questions still unanswered.  
  
“What happened next?” Wonwoo asks. _How did we come to this?_  
  
“What they thought would never happen,” Mingyu explains, “His father found the old house.”  
  
  
  
_He’d been standing near the pool when they saw him and Wonwoo’s bike on the ground, broken. His hold on Mingyu’s hand tightened as his father’s hands curled tight into a fist._  
  
_“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Mingyu?” His father slurred, but his voice was so loud it could tear the walls down._  
  
_“Dad, I—“_  
  
_“Go home, Mingyu. Get your ass back there right now.”_  
  
_“We should go, Dad—“_  
  
_“Leave!”_  
  
_The walls shook. He’d looked at Wonwoo then, eyes wide in panic. He’d been scared for him._  
  
_He squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay,” Mingyu lied before letting go, walking away as he heard his father say to him, “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”_

 

_Mingyu knew what his father was going to do to him._

_Smack._

_He’d struck Mingyu hard, his body being pummelled to the ground as his father beat him while he begged him to stop._

_Kick._

_“You disgusting little fag!”_

_Smack. “Stupid.” Smack. “Piece of shit.” Smack._

_The next few seconds came in a blur—Wonwoo coming inside from his bedroom door and throwing his father’s weight away from him in one swift motion. Wonwoo straddled him, crying and screaming as he landed punches on his head, over and over again._  
  
_Mingyu’s vision was blackening and his body grew weak and numb, but he watched as Wonwoo lifted him on his back and carried him out the room. The last thing he saw was his father lying unconscious on the floor before the world disappeared in front of him._  
  
_They were in the middle of a cornfield by sundown when Mingyu had woken up. They heard police sirens not so far away, heading towards the direction of his house. Wonwoo wanted to go back and ask them to take him to a hospital, but Mingyu didn’t want to leave. He just wanted to stay with him in that cornfield, away from everything else._  
  
_Wonwoo had been quiet, thinking all on his own while Mingyu left him alone with his thoughts. He clung to him, bringing his arms around his neck and head against his chest._  
  
_“Let’s leave, Wonwoo,” Mingyu says with closed eyes, drifting into slumber again with a small smile on his lips. “The minute we find an opportunity to get away from here, let’s do it together, okay?”_  
  
_Mingyu had been so brave and strong, and broken all at once. He was exhausted, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if they were always going to be that way—finding a safe place to run away to and depending on each other for their own happiness._  
  
_As soon as Mingyu had fallen asleep, he slowly pulled away, running to the scene of the crime._

 

  
_Wonwoo was still holding Mingyu when he opened his eyes. The sun was just about to rise, but flashlights soon pointed at them. Two police officers had found their hiding spot._  
  
_“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to let him go.” One of them spoke up._  
  
_Mingyu looked up at Wonwoo, alarmed._  
  
_“What’s happening?” Mingyu asked. Wonwoo did as he was told and helped him back on his feet. Wonwoo surrendered to them willingly, handcuffing him while Mingyu watched in confusion. They escorted him away from the cornfield, down to the police car parked near the caution tape nailed in front of Mingyu’s house._  
  
_Wonwoo entered the vehicle, staring at Mingyu from out the window as he tried to interrogate the police officers._  
  
_Wonwoo could faintly hear Mingyu ask them, “What’s going on? Please, tell me.”_  
  
_“We’re here to take your friend for questioning about a fire that happened a month ago.”_  
  
_“Kim Mingyu?”_  
  
_He turned to the direction of where the sound came from and found a man walking towards him._  
  
_“Hi, I’m Joshua. I’m a social worker from Child Protective Services,” He greeted politely, “Your father was arrested last night for assaulting a police official. Also, taking into account what Wonwoo has reported to us about the incident that took place in this house yesterday, we’ve decided to bring you into foster care.”_  
  
_Mingyu’s face changed. “What do you mean he reported to you?”_  
  
_He winded down the car window, with Mingyu looking back at him with a conflicted face._  
  
_“Wonwoo—“_  
  
_“I’m sorry,” He told him, “I went back to your house when you were asleep. They were already gone but I called them back to tell them everything. I’m so sorry, Mingyu, but if we stay together, we’ll always end up stuck.”_  
  
_He knew how much it hurt him. He began to cry as he was overwhelmed with sadness, tears of his own starting to appear._  
  
_“Why are you doing this to me?” Mingyu asked desparately._  
  
_Wonwoo simply told him the truth. “Because you deserved more than what you got. We both do.”_  
  
_Before Mingyu said anything else, he was escorted away by Joshua and leading him to his car, Wonwoo only mouthing the words 'I love you' over and over again, hoping one day he would understand._  
  
_He looked away._  
  
_As they drove to the police station, he thought about rooftops and old abandoned houses. He remembered the water in the pool, and how there are moments when you will feel like the ocean._  
  
_In that moment, he only felt like drowning in them._  
  
  
  
Wonwoo slams a hand down the table, pulling and twisting his hair in confused frustration. It makes a few heads turn, especially Jeonghan who is still listening through the other line.  
  
_That’s not how it happened._  
  
“You’re lying,” Wonwoo grits his teeth with eyes tearing up, “That’s not true.”  
  
He’d written their story almost perfectly, up until the ending when he switched into his point of view. Because the truth was it was Mingyu who turned himself in. He was the one who called the police. It was Mingyu who gave up, and was the reason why they separated.  
  
“It’s just a story in my journal.” Mingyu calmly tells him.  
  
“It’s not just a story,” Wonwoo defends, “It’s a story with real life characters and real life events.”  
  
At that moment, he hears Jeonghan quickly shift in his seat, typing furiously on the keyboard like he was in a hurry.  
  
“I thought fabricating one part would help get into his head and see things clearer,” he admits, “Wouldn’t you have done the same for someone you loved, knowing that staying together would only hurt him in the end? Knowing that it would hurt yourself? Maybe one day they’d meet again, when they’re different people and they’re better for each other. Don’t you think seven years apart would have given them the amount of space that they needed to heal? To grow?”  
  
All this time, Mingyu had been helping him deal with his own demons. He opened old scars, wanting him to feel sad and angry and hurt, so he could come back from it a better person. Wonwoo didn’t understand how his thoughts and feelings reflected most of his own. It was like Mingyu knew him so much more than he knew himself.  
  
He can’t stop crying, and everything seemed new again. After years of silence, here was Mingyu’s soft and lilting voice, closing all time and distance through the other end of the line.  
  
Wonwoo looks up to Jeonghan resting a hand on his shoulder in a subtle urgency.  
  
“I traced his call.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I know where he is,” Jeonghan tells him, smiling slowly.  
  
Mingyu’s voice continues to cut through the line.  
  
“The point is, everything that happened in the past doesn’t matter anymore. For all I know, we could be dead any moment now, but I don’t want to live in regret. I don’t want to miss another second of this life without being able to tell you how important you are to me.”  
  
Wonwoo doesn’t know a lot about destiny or fate, but he thinks things are finally falling together, the way it’s meant to be.  
  
“I’m sorry for making you wait, Wonwoo,” Mingyu says, “Come and let me love you.”  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Wonwoo didn’t think he would come back to this side of town again, but he’s stepping out of the taxi, passing his deceased father’s old house and entering the forest.  
  
He starts jogging. He loses his breath somewhere along ten minutes of retracing the steps he used to take. He makes it into the clearing, and the abandoned house looks exactly the same as it did before. It now had a tiny porch and a few paint jobs, but it was the same house, nevertheless.  
  
He reaches the front door, but just as he was about to knock, it swings open.  
  
Wonwoo manages to catch air through his lungs from all the running, but when he meets Mingyu’s face—serene and lovely just like how he remembered him—he thinks it’ll always leave him breathless.  
  
“Finally.” Mingyu says.  
  
“I’m here.” Wonwoo tells him, panting while his brain tries to function properly and his heart slows down. He should have thought this through. He’s not good with words. “You’re a really slow reader.”  
  
They kiss right there in the doorway—Wonwoo grasping the back of his neck and bringing his lips to Mingyu’s. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, holding each other close like they’re afraid one of them would disappear again.  
  
Mingyu pulls away from his lips, but still close enough for them to touch.  
  
“We can work on that,” Mingyu tells him, “Along with new swimming lessons.”  
  
Wonwoo contemplates on more words to say, just to clear up a few more things.  
  
“The first time we spoke on the phone. Did you know it was me?”  
  
“Yes.” Mingyu answers right away.  
  
“Was this part of your plan?”  
  
“I didn’t want to push my luck, but I hoped so.”  
  
He bites his lip, trying hard not to smile.  
  
“There’s still a lot of catching up to do.”  
  
“We can work on that too,” Mingyu agrees. “Both of us. We’ll have all the time in the world to figure out what we could become.”  
  
He leans in again, kissing him, then pulls away with one of his warm golden smiles, the one that had always been home.  
  
“And we’ll be ready for it,” Mingyu says.  
  
_For the rest of our lives._  



End file.
